When Freedom Ain’t Free

Well now, Butterbean, come on up here on this here porch and watch out for that there porch swing. It’s been a‑squeakin’ and a‑carryin’ on like a rooster who done just discovered his own echo. Pull up a chair that leans a little to the left, grab yourself some shade, and let’s sit a spell. I was just ‘a‑watchin’ a plump ol’ squirrel ‘a‑tryin’ to haul off a stale dinner roll it done found under the steps, bless its twitchy lil’ ol’ heart. It kept ‘a-slippin’ and ‘a-fussin’ like a goat stuck in a washtub, and I thought, “Ain’t that just like us humans, always ‘a‑tryin’ to drag around things we done think is ‘a-makin’ us free when they’re really ‘a-weighin’ us down.”

Galatians 5:13 tells us, “We were called to freedom, but not the kind the world advertises.” The world’s version of freedom is basically, “Do whatever you be ‘a-wantin’ and ‘a-callin’ it livin’.” But that ain’t freedom. That is bondage ‘a-wearin’ lipstick.

Let me tell you about a conversation that rattled my cage. A mortician friend stopped by after a funeral, ‘a-holdin’ a drink. When I asked what it was, he said that it was  alcohol. I just said, “Oh.” He looked me dead in the eyes real serious-like and said, “I just can’t face the pain of havin’ to do what I hav’ to do sometimes without this here stuff.” Right then, the Holy Spirit done whispered in my ear, “He done thinks he is free, but he is really chained to the very thing he runs to.”

And I reckon we all have somethin’ like that. What is your “alcohol,” Buttercup? What is that thing you always have to go ‘a-runnin’ to for comfort that really ends up runnin’ you in the end? For some folks it’s food. For others it is shoppin’, social media, approval, or even church busywork. It can be anything can become one of them there chains if it replaces Jesus.

True freedom ain’t the absence of restraint. It’s the presence of the Holy Spirit so strong that sin is ‘a-losin’ its grip like a cat’a- losin’ its hold on a greased fence post. When God calls you to holiness, He ain’t a’takin’ away your fun. He’s ‘a-handin’ you real freedom.

Lord, be ‘a-showin’ me where I have mistaken them there chains for comfort. Be ‘a-givin’ me courage to be ‘a-lettin’ Your Spirit free me completely. I’m ‘a-wantin’ Your freedom, not the world’s cheap fallse pretendin’. In Jesus’ holy name, Amen.

Well, Butterbean, that ought to season your soul better than a cast‑iron skillet on a Sunday mornin’. Now go on and let Jesus snap them chains clean off, the same way an old wise turtle finally decides to quit ‘a-haulin’ around that there cracked ol’ shell he done outgrew three summers ago. When the Lord sets you free, you will walk lighter than a barn cat ‘a-slippin’ out the feed room with a stolen biscuit. He knows exactly how to loosen what has been ‘a-holdin’ you, and He’ll be ‘a-leadin’ you into the kind of freedom that feels like breathin’ in fresh air after one of them there real long rainstorms.

With joy,

Gwen